Lights on the bridges and a smokestack far awaySmoke turns to indigo in the ending business dayThe taxicabs' assault on the potholed asphaltThey parry and lunge 'neath the thin winter sun who'sPainting the bedroom grey

Computer Mage, the plastic ageSomeday all this will be a roadWhere will it take us?It's got seventeen lanes.Where will it run?It's an interstate parkway.here will it go?It's a boot print of progress.Where will it take us?It's gonna be a road, be a road.

Domesticated primates, the Leary Convict saysSewn up together in paper foil like a pack of Pez, of course,School was a fine bunch of rehashed lines, there wasNothing really said, I could have stayed home in bed and watchedReruns of Desi Arnaz

Time is just a concept, says Einstein's kid, the dunce.People's way of keeping everything from happening at onceOvertake the light, and time is in your sightAnd black holes bend the beams so nothing's where it seems and Finding out the truth could take you months."